


Never Needed A Wedding Ring

by missred



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Coughing, Fever, I just like characters cuddling okay, Illness, Influenza, M/M, Sickfic, Sickness, all that junk, domestic AU, literally everyone gets sick that it's that's the fic, sick!fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick aren't married. It doesn't really matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Needed A Wedding Ring

Patrick begs out of drinks with the guys from The Academy Is… on Thursday night, telling Pete he has a headache. Pete promises to give his apologies to the boys and pecks Patrick once on each temple to “kiss it better”. He leaves Patrick curled up on the couch and finds him snoring in bed when he gets home. When Pete wakes up at noon Patrick hasn’t stirred. Pete doesn’t think much of it as he rolls out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, fries eggs, checks his email. Somewhere into the third hour of an impromptu Hallmark movie marathon it registers that it’s nearly four in the afternoon and Patrick hasn’t made an appearance. Pete pauses the movie and heads upstairs. Patrick is still sleeping, and at this hour Pete decides anything is fair game. He pounces.

“Paaatrick,” low and close in his ear, “wake up, sleepyhead.”

Patrick bolts

* * *

It’s not Patrick’s fault that his fist catches Pete’s face, he was _asleep_. That doesn’t stop him from feeling awful when he wakes to Pete’s startled yelp. Patrick’s tired and his head hurts and now Pete is looking at him and shock and

“Christ, I’m sorry. C’mere--” Patrick moves to crawl towards Pete but that makes his head go heavy and it feels like someone filled it with cement while he slept and _shit_ he cannot breathe out of his nose. It doesn’t matter, because Pete comes for him, concerned at the look on Patrick’s face.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, reaching out and pulling Patrick back down into bed.

Patrick gets out “I’m fi---” before he’s wrenched away from Pete’s arms, sitting up and coughing hard enough that it shakes his whole frame.

“Woah, woah, woah, what happened ‘trick?” Pete gets right in front of his face because Patrick’s a terrible liar if you’re looking him in the eye.

“Nothing.” Patrick mumbles. “Must’ve been some dust.”

He sounds congested as Pete can already hear the wheeze in his voice that shouldn’t be there.

“Bullshit. Where’s your inhaler?”

Patrick hardly ever needed it, hadn’t had a full on attack in over a year, but Pete still insisted he bring it on tour and keep it around the house, just in case. Patrick shrugged.

“Downstairs somewhere.” He tried to sound nonchalant but Pete could hear how he was struggling for breath.

“Hang in there.” He hugged Patrick hard for second. “Be right back.”

it only took about three minutes of rooting around in the junk drawer before Pete found what he what after. He was pretty good at guessing where Patrick would leave things, having shared a bus with him most tours.

When he gets back upstairs Patrick’s blowing his nose, trying to get out snot that doesn’t seem to want to move from his head.

He shakes it hard and tosses the inhaler onto the bed, trying not to hover to much. Patrick knows how to handle himself, but it takes most of the willpower Pete’s cultivated over the past five years not to get down at face level with him and hold the inhaler to his lips.

Pete’s done it before, a few times back in the early days. Patrick hadn’t even told him he had asthma back then. They’d been midway through a midwest tour when Patrick had started gasping. None of them had none what to do until Patrick coughed out “backpack--front zip” and Pete had found the small silver inhaler nestled next to a pack of gum. He’d been scared and pissed as hell, but after a few puffs Patrick had been fine, and he’d gotten this defiant face when Pete started yelling.

“I didn’t tell you ‘cause it doesn’t matter. I can still sing.”

He could, too.

Pete smiled at the memory and kept a sharp eye on Patrick as he took deep breaths through the inhaler. After a minute, he sighed and put the cannister on the nightstand, glaring.

“Better?” Pete asked softly.

“Yeah.” Patrick sounded annoyed. “Can’t I just get a normal cold like everyone else?” He asked.

Pete sat down in the bed and scooted so he could pull Patrick to his chest.

“Afraid not, cupcake. We can make the best of it though.”

* * *

Pete spent the rest of the day absolutely spoiling Patrick--though he claimed he didn’t want spoiling. He made a run to the store and picked up an excessive amount cold medicine because he couldn’t decide which one would help Patrick best. While there he grabbed an ice pack, some weird steam thing that claimed to help with congestion, and, on a whim, Patrick’s favorite chocolate cake. Patrick liked to mess around in the kitchen, but his favorite cake was a drugstore brand Pete thought was okay and Patrick loved dearly. Pete figured it was probably because he had it as kid. Didn’t matter really, it made him smile.

\---

When Pete got back to the house Patrick had made his way downstairs and was sipping a cup of tea on the couch, the heat fogging up his glasses.

“Hey.” Pete dropped his bags on the kitchen counter and pressed the back of his hand to Patrick’s still-warm forehead.

“Gonna need to take your temperature sometime.” Pete reminds him gently.

Patrick grumbles, but takes the thermometer Pete’s snagged from the bathroom cabinet.

It’s not too bad, but not great either. Pete starts rifling through his shopping bags. It’s only 11 a.m, but the day time cold stuff he got works for 12 hours, and he doubts Patrick will make it until 11 tonight, even if he is usually a night owl. Pete’s glad he got a bunch of different kinds of medicine when he finds cough syrup, which should work until bedtime, and an expectorant to clear out Patrick’s congestion before he falls asleep and it settles.

Patrick tries to go through the bags himself, but Pete stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Shush. I got this. Let me help.”

“I’m an adult, Pete.” Patrick tell him bemusedly. He doesn’t sound like one, not right now.

He sounds more like kid Pete met in an argyle sweater ten years ago. He sounds tired. Pete grabs a blanket from off the back of the couch and wraps Patrick in it, pulls him close and tries to help him stop shivering until the medicine kicks in.

“I’m fine.” Patrick lies, coughing. He knows it freaks Pete out when he’s not.

“I believe you.” Pete lies right back. He’s always been the better liar.

* * *

Patrick doesn’t eat much for the next few days, he can’t taste anything and he isn’t hungry anyways. He can tell it’s driving Pete crazy, he keeps hovering and bringing in plates of toast and tea, which Patrick tries to finish for his sake. He always falls asleep instead.  When he wakes up with a nose he can actually breathe out of, Patrick has hope food might actually taste good today, not the weird tasteless yet still wrong tasting sick thing that’s been going on. It helps that when he rolls over his stomach rumbles. Patrick laughs, pokes it, and bounds out of bed, running downstairs. Pete bought him cake _days_ ago, and he hadn’t wanted it if he wasn’t going to enjoy it. Now he makes a strong pot of coffee and cuts himself a generous slice for breakfast. He eats it while answering emails and catching up on the news.

Pete stumbles down two hours later, surprised but pleased to see Patrick up.

“You sure you shouldn’t be in bed, sunshine?”

“Absolutely.” Patrick answers. He grins and then coughs a bit, but he doesn’t seem nearly as wiped out as he has been the past couple of days.

Pete yawns and Patrick’s smile turns to concern.

“Should you?”

Pete shakes himself out like a dog, forcing a smile.

“Nah, I’m good. Just need some of that.” He heads for the coffee pot.

Patrick heads for him.

“You’re a crap liar and you always have been.” He murmurs, leaning into Pete’s neck. Pete thinks he’s going in for a kiss but at the last moment Patrick spins Pete to face him and presses his wrist to Pete’s forehead.

“Knew you shouldn’t have been cuddling with me.” Patrick says to himself.

“Fuck you, I _like_ cuddling with you.” Pete says defiantly. There’s snot dripping out of his nose.

“Get back upstairs.” Patrick sighs. “I’ll make you some tea.”

\---

They both quickly learn that when Pete gets something, he gets it _bad_. By the end of day his voice has gone raw and low and rough from coughing. A few times his fever gets high enough he’s looking at Patrick without really seeing him and it scares the shit out of Patrick. He almost calls Pete’s mom. He almost calls Andy. Someone has to be better at this than Patrick. It’s alright once Pete’s medicine starts working, but he’s sleepy all day and thank god he bought so many different types of cold stuff because Patrick ends up trying them all. Pete mostly apologizes for being sick (stupid) and sleeps (good).

The second day Patrick finds the steam thing Pete bought and forgot about. Pete whines because it makes him cough a lot, but Patrick shoves him back onto the pillows and tells him that means it’s working.

The third day Pete’s fever is down but he’s still achy as hell, wiped out from the past couple of days. He’s turned their bed into a total nest and Patrick’s taken to moving into  the guest room after Pete’s fallen asleep. When he goes to check on Pete in the morning he’s still snoring loudly, a result of being stuffed up. Patrick shakes his head and runs a hand through Pete’s sweat damp hair. He’s going to have to enforce a shower if Pete isn’t better by tomorrow.

“Mmm.” Pete’s sleepy noises were one of Patrick’s favorite things, ever, but he’d die before he told Pete that one. It was a little unfair that he didn’t even have to be awake to give Patrick that overwhelming burst of IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, even when he’s been whining all day and keeps forgetting to take his medicine. He rolls over into Patrick’s lap and _fuck_ , yeah, Patrick loves him. It’s stupid to think he could ever stop.

Pete comes to a few minutes later with his head buried in Patrick’s crotch and hell yeah this is a good way to wake up.

“Hello.” He murmurs happily, nuzzling down. It’s worth the way Patrick twitches and swears when he realizes Pete’s awake.

“ _Jesus_.” Patrick’s muttering and blushing and Pete’s missed this.

Patrick shoves Pete back towards his side of bed and starts pulling his shirt off.

“Woah,” Pete coughed, “I missed you too, but I’m not quite sure I’m up to this yet.”

“Shut up.” patrick grabs something from the nightstand and damn, if Patrick needs it this bad Pete is not going to complain.

Pete’s hopes are dashed. The jar in Patrick’s had is not lube. It’s vic’s vapor rub.

“Oh _fuck_ no.” Pete starts scrambling off the bed but Patrick straddles himself over Pete’s hips and usually Patrick’s thighs are one of Pete’s personal favorite things, but right now he’s cursing them.

“‘Rick, no. I’m getting better, honest.”

“That’s great. This will help.” Patrick replies, scooping a handful of the sharp smelling goop from the jar.

“Patrick, I--”

“There is literally nothing you can promise me that is going to stop this from happening, and you aren’t in a position to make deals anyway.” Patrick cuts him off.

Pete sighs, scrunches his nose at the menthol.

“Get it over with.” He mumbles.

Patrick settles back on Pete with a satisfied smile, getting comfy. Despite the burn, Pete can’t help but notice it’s not a bad view. He closes his eyes and lets Patrick take care of him, familiar calloused hands running over his chest.

Within half an hour Pete is mostly asleep, comfortable and calm.

“Thanks ‘Trick.” He murmurs.

Patrick doesn’t pause. “In sickness and in health, right?”

Pete smiles, chest going warm and he’s sure it isn’t from the vapor rub. He doesn’t bother to mention that they aren’t married.

“In sickness and in health.” He mouths back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill. I'm not in love with it but there are some good moments. Hope you enjoy.


End file.
